Redemption
by AzureSkye23
Summary: After their return to life, Beren and Lúthien travel north, seeking the origins of a disturbing rumor. When the truth turns out to be beyond their wildest imagination, can they find pity in their hearts for a former tormentor?
1. Chapter 1

**So, I've decide to try updating this one on Wednesdays. That may change, but for now, that's how it's going to be. This story takes place just after Chapter Two of Innocence, but does not exist in the same world as Chapter Three. I'm not really sure this can be called an AU; it's more of a 'what if?' I'm sure you'll see what I mean. Anyway, this story has seven chapters, and is completely finished, so keep an eye out next Wednesday for Chapter Two! **

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Chapter One

"Again, Lúthien, why are we doing this?" Beren asked his wife as they moved cautiously through the dark forest.

"Beren, you heard the rumors. Something is wrong with this part of the forest," Lúthien said with a slight air of annoyance.

"Right, I know that," Beren assured her. "I'm just wondering why we have to be the ones to go see what the problem is. After all, it's not like any elves live here. It's probably just some creature of Morgoth."

"And if it is, don't you think that we should do something about that? At least so we can warn someone if necessary?"

She was definitely annoyed, Beren thought.

"Beren, I'm not suggesting we deal with it on our own," Lúthien softened her voice. "But we are in a position to at least find out if the rumors are true. I would feel horrible if something were to happen that we could have prevented."

Beren sighed. "You're right, as usual," he admitted.

They continued on in silence, senses extended for anything unusual. Despite their unequaled feats, they knew that most of it had been a combination of luck and desperation. They had no wish to have to fight now.

They followed a small stream farther into the woods. Water would be an important commodity for anyone dwelling in this forest, and the soft ground at its edge would reveal if anyone had been there recently.

Unexpectedly, the forest receded into a small clearing. Beren and Lúthien froze, but not before they caught the attention of the clearing's sole occupant.

Beren's first thought was that it was an escaped Noldorin slave, because whoever it was had clearly been tortured by a Balrog. There was barely an undamaged patch of visible skin: whip cuts layered under burns.

Then Beren met the golden eyes that haunted his nightmares. He didn't recognize the expression in them, terror never being an emotion he would have associated with Sauron. He stood frozen as the Maia scrambled to his feet using the tree he had been leaning on, putting no weight on his right foot. He turned to flee, but didn't get very far.

An agonized cry tore from his lips as his right thigh bent in a way it was never meant to do. He crashed to the ground, dark hair unable to hide the burns that covered much of his body. It obviously hurt, but the Maia made no sound as he curled into himself in response to the pain.

Lúthien instinctively started to move forward, but Beren caught her hand.

"It could be a trap," he cautioned her. She pursed her lips, then she shook her head decisively.

"It's not," she replied. "He wouldn't be able to fake something like this." Beren reluctantly agreed, as Lúthien, the daughter of a Maia, would know more about this than he. But he still didn't see why they had to help.

'Well, then, we know what's wrong with this part of the forest, and we can leave," he suggested. Lúthien turned appalled eyes on him.

"And just leave him like this?" she demanded.

"Lúthien, love, it is Sauron. He has tried to kill both of us, or worse, hand us over to Morgoth. We owe him nothing," Beren said firmly. Lúthien sighed.

"I know that," she said softly. "But…he and I are kin, in a way. If we leave, will we be any better than he?"

"Yes," grumbled Beren. "But your gentle heart shall not be denied, my love." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I just hope we won't regret this."

Lúthien was already moving forward. Beren hung back slightly, giving himself room to defend her, just in case she was wrong, and it was a trap. From this position, he had a clear view when Lúthien softly touched the wounded Maia's shoulder. Though her touch was extremely gentle, and on a patch of undamaged skin, Sauron still flinched away from it.

"Be easy," Lúthien said in a soft voice. "We won't hurt you." Sauron opened his eyes, and the wary desperation in them reminded Beren of a wounded wolf brought to bay. Of course, that connection brought up more recent memories of a dungeon, and Beren wished that he could have convinced Lúthien to walk away.

The golden eyes left Lúthien's face, and travelled beyond her to Beren. Beren restrained a sigh and moved forward to stand by Lúthien.

"I won't hurt you either," he assured the Maia. "I've been married long enough to know disagreeing with my beautiful wife is a rather bad idea." The wariness did not disappear, but diminished slightly.

Lúthien took this as a sign to push the long black hair aside, and gently turned Sauron enough to get a better look at his injuries. Along with the broken leg, the three major bones in his left arm were clearly broken as well. Beren looked closer, and realized that there were handprints burned into the arm. The Balrog that had done this had snapped the bones with its hands.

But Lúthien's attention, however, had been caught by the only wound that did not involve burns. Sauron's throat was a mess, bruised black and purple. Slightly curved wounds marred each side of his throat; they had bled copiously. Lúthien frowned as she looked at them.

"Huan left these," she murmured. "But they should have at least partially healed by now."

"I think they were reopened, Tinúviel," Beren said gently. Sauron raised his eyes to meet Beren's, then nodded, a single dip of the dark head. Lúthien's frown deepened.

"By whom?" she asked. Sauron opened his mouth and tried to speak, but he could only manage a raspy hiss. He stopped almost instantly, a pained wince flashing across his face. Lúthien looked up at Beren, a question clear in her eyes. He sighed, and knelt.

"I think we know who," he said softly. "The question is why."

The wary look in Sauron's eyes increased, but he reached out hesitantly, and gently touched Beren's right forearm, just above where it abruptly ended. The Maia's fingers were cold, Beren noticed fleetingly, before the full implication of Sauron's action registered.

"Because we won the Silmaril," Beren whispered. Sauron withdrew his hand, and closed his eyes, nodding.

Beren stared in disbelief at the injured Maia. Sauron had been subjected to this, simply because he had been partially involved with their quest for the Silmaril? _He deserved it though, didn't he?_ a small voice whispered.

"That doesn't make any sense," Beren said, striving for calm. "If Morgoth himself couldn't stop us, what makes him think that you could have?" Sauron opened his eyes again, an expression of weary cynicism on his face. Beren sighed.

"No, I suppose that wouldn't have made a difference to Morgoth, would it," he muttered. Sauron shook his head, pessimism slowly fading to be replaced again with pain.

The horror on Lúthien's face was disappearing, being replaced by a no-nonsense look Beren recognized from the various times he'd been injured and she'd cared for him. It was lucky for him that Lúthien had training as a healer, the gifts she'd inherited from her mother aiding her greatly.

"The burns look bad, but they are beginning to heal nicely on their own," she began. "The worst seems to be the broken bones. If they begin to heal without being set, you'll lose mobility."

Sauron nodded, weary acceptance visible in his face. Lúthien bit her lip, thinking. The femur would be the hardest and most painful to set, but it also would probably cause Sauron to loose consciousness, sparing him the pain of her dealing with everything else.

Making her decision, she gently pressed the Maia onto his back. He winced when his lacerated back came in contact with the hard ground, but didn't resist. Lúthien motioned Beren over.

"Hold him down, and don't let him move," she ordered her husband. "This is going to hurt," she warned Sauron. He just nodded, closing his eyes. Gritting her teeth, she pulled on his right leg in a single motion, smoothly, but using all her strength to overcome the thick, contracted muscles in his thigh.

Beren had to quickly use his weight to keep Sauron still as the Maia's back arched and he tried to jerk away from them. Part of Beren flinched away from the hoarse, agonized scream Sauron produced, but another part of him gleefully felt that revenge was only fair.

Sauron suddenly went limp beneath his hands, as he fell into unconsciousness. Lúthien sighed in relief, but Beren just stared at the slack features of the Maia, feeling his emotions tangle into a conflicted snarl. He shook his head, and continued to help his wife treat the Maia who had caused them so much pain.

Sauron regained consciousness as the sun was setting. He looked disoriented for a moment, then realizing where he was, relaxed slightly. He seemed slightly out of it, glassy eyes staring at nothing. Beren moved around, setting up camp and trying to ignore the unwelcome addition. Lúthien offered Sauron water, which he drank gratefully, as it eased his raw throat.

With the quick ease of practice, Beren and Lúthien quickly finished creating their camp, and settled down for the night. Beren briefly missed Huan and the hound's loyal guardianship.

Sauron lay on his back, watching the stars dance overhead. He was exhausted from the constant pain, and simply let his thoughts drift. Could they see him, those cold distant lights? Could their creator? Did the Valar know the fate of the one who had once faithfully served them but had turned in allegiance so long ago? Did Varda's stars report of his broken form? Did the small stream nearby carry to Ulmo echoes of his choked cry as Beren and Lúthien set his broken limbs? Did the earth tell Sauron's former lord how the Maia dug his fingers into it to try and deal with the pain? Did Yavanna know as her trees were used as splints? Did Irmo see his dreams, full of fire and darkness and pain? Did his spouse, the fair Estë, know of his desperate need for healing?

_Is there no healing for me? _he cried silently. He closed his eyes to the cold indifference of the stars, turning his head to the side. Even if the Valar did know, they wouldn't care. He had betrayed them long ago, and deserved the fate he suffered. He drifted to sleep, seeking oblivion to deal with the pain in his body and in his heart.

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**Like it, hate it, think I'm crazy? Let me know! Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry, I meant to have this up yesterday, but it was the first day of classes for me, and I was busy. **

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Chapter Two

Sauron mostly slept for the next few days, his body regulating its resources into the healing process. As he grew stronger, he began to take more notice of his surroundings. He also regained his voice, though it was rough, and he didn't speak much.

Beren grew quieter as well, as he became more and more unable to ignore the presence of the Maia. Lúthien noticed this, but didn't know how to overcome it, and resigned herself to starting any and all conversation.

Tension continued to grow until its eventual explosion seemed inevitable.

"Beren, stop. Just…stop. Please." Lúthien finally snapped, exasperated, as her husband had done nothing but glare at Sauron all afternoon.

"I was unaware I was doing anything," Beren said stiffly.

"You know what you were doing. Can you at least attempt to show some compassion?" Lúthien continued.

"I would be happy to do so, if anyone here merited it," Beren retorted.

Sauron fidgeted uncomfortably as Beren and Lúthien continued to argue, their voices rising in both intensity and pitch. He wished he was almost anywhere but here, being forced to listen to an argument over him.

"You're blinded by your hate, Beren. What will it take for you to see beyond your stubborn preconceived notions?" Lúthien argued.

"You weren't there!" Beren shouted back. "You didn't have to sit there and listen as your companions were killed and eaten, knowing you were helpless to do anything to save them. If you had been, you would not be so forgiving. If you had to watch as some one you greatly admired died for you, you would hate him as much as I do!"

Beren and Lúthien stared at each other, both still clearly incensed, before Lúthien turned and stalked off down the stream that flowed by the small clearing. Beren stared after her for a moment, before turning around and heading upstream. Sauron was left in the clearing alone, deeply uncomfortable, mind working frantically. Coming to a decision, he grabbed a twig and began to scratch a message deep into the dirt.

_I am most grateful for your help_, he wrote, _but I am fully aware that my presence is unhelpful. I am mostly healed by now, and will continue on my way. _

Dropping the twig, he struggled to sit up, and quickly turned a nearby branch into a makeshift crutch. Using it with his right arm, he struggled to his feet, and headed out of the small camp.

Every step was agony: he was unable to use his left arm to support himself, which made it impossible to avoid putting some weight on his right leg. Said arm hurt as well, swinging useless. And he generally ached all over, as his abused muscles did not like the idea of moving at all.

But he had to. He had seen firsthand the strength of Beren and Lúthien's love, and he knew driving a wedge in it, even if only by his mere presence, was a bad idea. It would cement Beren's hatred of him, and would in time turn Lúthien against him as well. He was grateful for their help, as he had no idea what he would have done without them, but he had overstayed his welcome.

So he continued his pain-filled trek, traveling aimlessly. He knew he was leaving a clear trail, but had no way to conceal it. Besides, it wasn't like anyone was coming after him. Finally, nearing the limits of his strength, which was greatly reduced at the moment, he found a small stream. It didn't deserve the name, more of a trickle than anything, but it was enough to drink from. Looking around, he spotted a large, ancient tree all covered with some kind of creeper. More interestingly, at least to him, was the cubby-like indent between partially exposed roots.

As carefully as he could, he moved over to the tree and curled up. He fit nicely. His eyes closed, as he gave in to pain and exhaustion. _Yavanna, if you bore any love for the one who once served your husband, let me rest in safety here, just for one night…_he prayed, as he drifted to sleep.

Beren sighed, calming down as he settled on a tree root over looking the stream. He was still extremely displeased over the situation, but yelling at his wife was inexcusable. She had given up everything for him, and he would do well to remember that. He would need to apologize. Maybe he would pull her aside, away from that Maia, and talk to her. Maybe he could convince her that they had done enough. After all, they had aided that Maia enough that he should be able to take care of himself. Beren would feel so much better when they were away from him.

With that plan in his mind, he headed back downstream. Knowing approximately where Lúthien had gone, he avoided the clearing entirely, not wanting the sight of that Maia to damage his fragile hold on his temper, and the determination to speak calmly and logically to his wife.

He picked up her tracks with difficulty, as like with all her kind she stepped incredibly lightly. He briefly again wished Huan was still with them. He would have found her in an instant. But as it turned out he didn't need to use his tracking skills, as he heard her singing. Quickly and quietly, he followed the sound of her voice to the edge of the stream, where he found her sitting on a boulder half in the water, staring at a small eddy in the current.

He winced internally at the preoccupied expression on her face, but stepped forward anyway. She looked up and met his eyes, her own face perfectly blank.

"Tinúviel…" he said. "I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"No, you shouldn't have," Lúthien retorted, but her face softened. Beren sighed.

"It's just…You know that I still dream of those dungeons. He still haunts my nightmares, and having him so close…I'm losing my mind, love. I can't do it." Lúthien stood up and walked over to him, taking his hand.

"I know, love. I watch your hatred and your fear; I watch it destroy you, and I can't do anything about it. I'm sorry that this is so hard for you, but when I look at him, I don't see the monster you do. I see someone who is a victim of this war just as much as the rest of us."

"I know, Tinúviel," Beren said. "But every time I try to see it your way, I remember Finrod, and those who had come with us, and…" he trailed off.

Lúthien hugged him. "It will just be a bit longer, not more than a week," she assured him gently. "Can you stay that long?" Beren nodded.

"For you, love," he said. She looked at him with a serious expression.

"And will you at least try to see him differently?" she asked. Beren sighed.

"I will try, though I'm not very optimistic about my success there," he said. Lúthien nodded, taking his hand as they walked back to the clearing.

Like the first time they stumbled upon the glade, they froze, though this time because it was unoccupied. Lúthien pulled Beren over to where Sauron had been, and she sighed in exasperation as they read the note he had left in the dirt.

Beren sighed as well, and gently untangled his fingers from Lúthien's.

"I'll go get him," he told her. "He can't have gone far; walking must be extremely painful for him." Lúthien nodded.

"I'm surprised he managed it at all," she admitted. Beren smiled at her.

"Well then, I shouldn't be long," he said, and left the clearing, following the distinct trail that the Maia had left.

Even though his footprints were clear, if Beren hadn't been a fairly good tracker, he would have missed Sauron. Curled up in between the roots of a massive tree, he was covered with the plant that grew around the trunk of the tree, almost as if it were a blanket. Beren shook his head at that fanciful thought.

He pushed the plants carefully off of the Maia, studying his features as he did so. They were taut and etched with pain–unsurprising, as Lúthien had told him he needed to stay off of his broken leg for at least another week. Huffing, he began to lift the Maia to pull him over his shoulders. It would jar the Maia, but Beren could see no other alternative.

He froze in surprise when he began to lift him, for Sauron whimpered, golden eyes fluttering open weakly.

"It's just me," Beren said, hoping his voice was even. It didn't seem to reassure the Maia, but he was too exhausted and weak to resist as Beren hauled him over his shoulders, which was not the easiest thing to do with only one hand. Beren knew he jostled the broken bones, even though he tried not to, and while Sauron's breath hitched, the Maia didn't make a sound otherwise. Finally, he had him settled, and set off for the camp. He was uncomfortably aware of the Maia's heartbeat, breath, and warm weight.

The trip back was accomplished in silence; Beren had no breath to spare for talking, and he wasn't even sure if the Maia was still conscious. It turned out he was, though, as his eyes opened again after Beren entered camp, passing Lúthien, and laid him down where he had been before.

"S-sorry," Sauron choked out: between the damaged throat and the pain from moving, his voice was a weak rasp. Beren sighed as he met the tormented eyes of the being he most hated. While Morgoth had been the far more deadly foe, his encounter with him and Carcharoth, while painful, had been nothing compared to waiting in Sauron's dungeons for certain death, having to listen while his companions were killed and eaten. To Beren, that had been unforgivable.

And yet, was it not compassion that had been lacking in both Sauron and his master?Even after what he had done, did Sauron deserve what had been done to him? _Does anyone?_ that little voice in his head whispered softly.

"I know," Beren said simply, pushing Sauron's hair out of his face. Compassion reluctantly tugged at his heart as Sauron almost imperceptibly leaned into the touch. He came to a decision, and gently scooped the Maia up in his arms.

"Let it out," he said softly. "You cannot keep it all inside forever."

Sauron stiffened, breath hitching. Then he collapsed noiselessly, shaking with silent sobs. He curled in on himself, desperately seeking comfort.

And Beren gave it. He stroked the dark hair and whispered meaningless reassurances. He remembered the last time he'd done so, when Hathaldir had mourned the loss of his home and family. It seemed that Lúthien was right: there were broken souls on both sides of this conflict. Beren had never thought like that before. In his mind, those who opposed him were wrong, and he was right.

And yet, those who opposed him were like him, in some indefinable way. They too had hopes and dreams, fears and demons who haunted their nights. Perhaps the world was not as clear-cut as he'd always held it to be.

It was humbling, to have to re-examine all the beliefs he'd held onto all his life, to let go of the hate he'd nurtured for so long. And yet, it was also amazingly freeing. He was not the only one who'd lost in this endless war. And he had gained beyond his wildest imagination, he thought with a quick glance at Lúthien.

Slowly, Sauron grew still, relaxing completely as he slipped into the realm of sleep. Beren studied the tear-stained features of the Maia as he sorted out his emotions. The hate was gone, replaced with compassion, and mercy, and perhaps just the beginnings of forgiveness.

Beren looked over to where Lúthien was watching him. He sighed. "I know, I know," he said. "But is it not compassion that separates us from the forces of Darkness?" He paused, glancing down at the sleeping Maia. "If he is so desperate for comfort that he will seek it from the hands of a man he knows hates him, then I would have to be as heartless as Morgoth to deny it."

Lúthien smiled and rose, walking over to Beren. She kissed him gently. "You're a good man, love." The approval in her voice and face made everything worth it to Beren.

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**As always, let me know what you think! Thank you to my reviews, and Maya, if you're reading this, I don't post my stories all at once, one: because I get more reviews if I string them out, and two: because I use the time while I'm posting to write the next story I'm working on. I've told myself I can't post unfinished stories, because I have one that's just been sitting there for a year now. I'm glad you liked it, and hope this chapter didn't disappoint!**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Beren watched the sun rise beyond the trees. The light filtered only weakly into the darkness of this forest, but it was enough to see clearly by. He shook Sauron gently.

"Sauron?" he said softly. "Wake up." The Maia stirred slightly. Beren shook him again.

"It's morning," he continued. "Time to get up." Sauron stirred a bit more, and Beren had to stop himself from grinning at the petulant frown that crossed the Maia's face.

"Are you going to sleep the day away?" Beren asked, teasing now. "It's time to wake up!"

"Go 'way, Olórin," Sauron grumbled, trying to raise his left arm. The pain brought him fully awake, and his eyes finally flickered open.

"Oh," he said, realizing where he was. "Good morn."

"Good morn," Beren replied, still amused. "Who's Olórin?" A small, nostalgic smile touched Sauron's face.

"My…my brother," he said softly. "My older brother." Beren was shocked.

"You have a brother?" he asked incredulously. Sauron grinned.

"I have a little sister, too, but she never left the Timeless Halls," he said. Beren was still trying to comprehend the notion that Sauron, chief lieutenant of Morgoth, had siblings.

"Did your brother follow Morgoth as well?" Beren asked, curious. Sauron shook his head.

"He served Manwë when I left, and as far as I know, he still does," he said. "He was actually the one who discovered that I was serving Morgoth…He didn't take it very well." He sighed, smile sliding from his face. "He probably hates me."

Beren thought carefully before he spoke, something unusual for him. "I don't have any siblings," he began. "But I have known quite a few. And I cannot imagine that your brother hates you. He is probably disappointed in your choices, and wishes you had done differently, yes, but hatred is self-destructive, and I would guess that your brother mourns you rather than hates you." Sauron shrugged.

"I would deserve it if he hated me," he said softly.

"Would you? Would you really?" Beren asked without heat. "I'm not so sure, anymore." Sauron looked at him curiously.

"My hatred of you was born of fear," Beren told him. "When I no longer feared you, the hatred faded as well. Admittedly, it took me some time to realize that, but I'm better off for doing so."

"I'm not exactly intimidating at the moment," Sauron said with a quirky grin. For a second, Beren saw him as had been, witty and intelligent; full of life. Beren realized that he had ever only seen a jaded and broken shadow of what the Maia should have been. And with that recognition came forgiveness. He still mourned Finrod and his companions; but after all, he knew better than anyone else that death was nothing to be feared.

Beren laughed. "No, you're not," he agreed. He looked at Lúthien, trying to tell her with a wordless look that he was alright now. He had almost walked down the same path Sauron had, down one of hate and bitterness. But, contrary to most opinions, he could learn from mistakes, even those made by others.

Lúthien did catch the look, and silently rejoiced. The man she had met and fallen in love with had been still strangely innocent despite his trials. He had not been jaded and had still been giving, and that man had just returned.

"How long are you going to stay here?" Sauron asked, seemingly randomly. "I'm sure you have things you need to do, people to see, impossible feats to perform…why were you here in the first place, anyway?"

"Actually, we don't have anywhere we need to be," Beren said. "We came here because we heard rumors that something wasn't right in this part of the forest. Other than that, we're just wandering around, looking for a place to settle down. We didn't feel comfortable in Doriath anymore, since Lúthien is now mortal after our return from death–"

"Wait," Sauron broke in at that. "What?"

And so Beren and Lúthien told him about the later parts of their adventures. When they finished, Sauron sat there with raised eyebrows.

"Well, that's…unexpected," he finally said. Beren grinned.

"That probably sums it up nicely," he agreed.

"So what are your plans?" Lúthien asked Sauron. He shrugged, a jaded expression reappearing on his face.

"Staying as far away from Morgoth as I can until he calls again," he said.

"You're going to go back to him?" Lúthien asked, looking upset. Sauron sighed, helplessness written on his face.

"What choice do I have?" he asked. "I will never be free of him. And sometime in the future I too will end up twisted beyond recognition, a weapon to be used against the remnants of your people. I was simply fooling myself in thinking that I could ever avoid it."

"What of the Valar?" Lúthien asked.

"What of them?" Sauron replied. "The Valar will not harken to the prayers of mercy of the Noldor, and their crimes are far less than mine. No, there will be no help for me there. I lost any chance of that long ago."

"So what will you do?" Beren asked. Sauron shrugged.

"What I can," he replied. "Try to minimize the damage Morgoth inflicts. Delay the inevitable as long as possible. Hope beyond hope that one day he will fall, though it will be too late for me."

"I think that day will come," Lúthien said. "But when it does, I want you to take the chance of forgiveness if it is offered you, no matter how slim you think the hope of it might be. I think you may just find it." Sauron smiled sadly.

"I wish I could believe you," he said. "But I promise I will, though I do not see it coming to pass. I fear I am beyond redemption."

"Two days ago, I would have agreed with you," Beren said. "Now, I don't. And I'm fairly certain that if anyone would look past that mask you wear so well, they'll agree."

"But who will?" Sauron asked, almost rhetorically. "If you're right, it challenges everything most people believe. To see me as anything other than evil destroys the ability to see this war in clear cut terms. And when that capability fails, what else must be challenged?"

"A lot," Beren agreed. "But that's probably a good thing."

"Few actually want what's good for them," Sauron said. "Or, more accurately, they refuse to have a long term vision of what will be good for them in the future, and so take what looks the best in the moment."

Beren frowned, unable to dispute that. They sat in silence, not quite knowing what to say after that.

Now that the tension had faded from the camp, Sauron became a lot more vocal. Beren watched in amusement as he tried to convince Lúthien he was quite well enough to get up: something Lúthien flatly disagreed with.

But especially after the splints had come off his arm, he was ready to stand. Part of Beren sympathized with Sauron, but he knew better than to say so. Lúthien did not appreciate anyone disobeying her when it came to healing, as Beren had learned many times.

But finally the day came when Lúthien decided he could try standing. Only standing, she'd admonished him. Not walking. Beren caught the gleam in Sauron's eyes though, and got the feeling that once he could stand up, there were very few things that could keep him from trying to walk.

Beren offered Sauron a hand, which he took swiftly, and Beren pulled him to his feet. He swayed slightly, but stayed upright. He had been lying down or sitting for so long that Beren had forgotten his height. He was tall, but not as tall as Thingol, Beren noted with surprise. In fact, if Beren's memories were correct, he was about as tall as Finrod. Beren wondered why he hadn't noticed that before, then remembered that all the times he'd seen the two together Sauron had been standing on something higher.

Sauron let go of Beren's hand, and took a shaky step. Beren stepped back as Sauron began to stagger around the clearing.

"I believe I said 'stand', not 'walk'," Lúthien said, raising an eyebrow. "Not that what you're doing can really be called walking."

Sauron shot her an unrepentant grin, and kept going. Finally tiring, he sat down against the bole of a tree, stretching his right leg out, drawing the left one up. He shot Beren and Lúthien an exhilarated, if weary, grin. The conversation that night stayed light, not wanting to acknowledge the truth: now that Sauron was mostly healed, they would have to part ways soon.

That day came sooner than they would have wanted, but they knew they it was for the best. Morgoth could never learn what had happened here. Beren and Lúthien were planning to go south and east. Sauron wasn't sure where he was going to go.

"I may just continue haunting this forest for a while," he quipped.

But now that permanent separation was here, they were loth to face it. They knew they would never see each other again, unless it was beyond the end of the world. Strangely, they had become good friends in the short time they had known each other.

"Thank you for everything," Sauron said sincerely. "I can never repay you for what you've done."

"You are very welcome," Beren said firmly. "Believe me, you've helped us as well."

"Take care of yourself," Lúthien added. "And remember what I said about forgiveness." Sauron gave her a half-bow.

"I will not forget," he promised. "And I shall do as you say."

"Farewell," Lúthien said, taking Beren's hand.

"Goodbye," Sauron replied. They glanced back as they left, only glimpsing Sauron as a black shadow among dark trees. Beren knew that image would stay with him for a long time.

Sauron watched them go, hand in hand.

"Be well," he whispered.

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**Don't worry. It's not over yet. There's still four more chapters...**

**As always, please review! I love to hear what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sauron moved through the crowd, ignoring the startled looks and instinctive clenching of sword hilts that his presence brought. He needed to find Eönwë. A promise given long ago was ringing in his ears. He had promised to seek even the faintest chance of forgiveness, so he would surrender, even if he doubted that he would receive mercy. It was all he could do to thank the two who had forgiven him, even though they had every right not to do so.

Ah, there was Eönwë! Sauron moved in closer, watching as the herald's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at his approach. Then those amber eyes grew wary, and Eönwë's hand crept towards the hilt of his sword. Quickly, Sauron knelt in the dusty paths that criss-crossed the encampment.

"Eönwë," he began, "I have come to surrender and beg forgiveness of you. I have long regretted my decision to turn in my allegiance to Morgoth, but by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. Now, I find myself free for the first time in Ages. I have no desire to serve the Darkness any longer," he finished softly.

Silence fell, and Sauron waited for Eönwë to simply take his sword and remove Sauron's head from his shoulders, or call for more Maiar and bind him as they had Morgoth. That last one might actually be useful, Sauron mused, except that it would probably end with him in the Void as well. That was the most likely ending for all of this, Sauron admitted to himself.

Lost in his thoughts, it came as a shock when Eönwë reached out and pulled him to his feet. He met the amber eyes of his one-time good friend.

"Why are you doing this, Sauron?" Eönwë said, soft enough that the elves who had gathered to watch the little spectacle couldn't hear.

"I owe it to Beren and Lúthien," Sauron admitted, just as quietly. "I ran into them after they had returned to life–and they offered me mercy I certainly didn't deserve." He shrugged. "This is the only way I can even begin to repay them."

Eönwë stared intently into Sauron's eyes, though what he was looking for, Sauron didn't know. Then he sighed.

"I want to believe you," he said. "But I do not have the authority to pardon you. If you wish to be pardoned, you must return to Aman and receive justice from the Valar."

Sauron closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The justice of the Valar was his worst nightmare at the moment. He knew full well that his crimes condemned him. Still, it would simply be what he deserved.

"I will," he said. Eönwë's answering smile was relieved, and Sauron knew that his old friend was tired of the fighting, and wanted it to be over with. Well, it would be. Eönwë hadn't deserved to go through this horrendous war.

"You will have free movement of the camp," Eönwë assured him. "But for your own safety it may be wise to stay close to those who know you have surrendered." Sauron nodded briefly. Eönwë quickly squeezed the junction between Sauron's neck and shoulder, then turned and moved away. He had a lot to do in order to get every one back to Valinor, Sauron knew, but that left him there trying to distract himself from the thought of exactly what was awaiting him when they did return to the Blessed Realm.

After only about fifteen minutes, Sauron exhaled heavily. This wasn't working. He had always run away from pain whenever he could; telling himself he deserved this, and that he owed it to Beren and Lúthien wasn't going to keep him here. Annoyed, although he couldn't tell if it was towards Eönwë, Morgoth, himself, or the situation in general, he moved swiftly off to Eönwë's tent.

He reached it quickly, and found it guarded by a couple of Maiar. He assumed this was a new development, something that had happened after Maedhros and Maglor had…_liberated_...the Silmarilli.

"Is Eönwë here?" he asked the rather startled guards. They looked at each other, wide eyed, then one nodded.

"Is he busy? I need to speak with him," Sauron continued, annoyed by the rather frightened looks he was getting. They _knew_ him, after all. Thankfully for all parties involved, Eönwë heard and came out of the tent.

"No, I'm not busy at the moment," he said. "What do you need?"

Sauron shot a meaningful glance at the other Maiar. "Can we talk in private?" he asked. Eönwë seemed startled, but nodded, and beckoned him inside.

Eönwë's tent was nice, but obviously catered more to military necessity than luxury, just a cot, a few trunks, and a large desk covered with papers. There was also a table in the corner that could be pulled out for larger planning meetings. Sauron took it all in quickly, then turned back to face Eönwë, eyeing the tent walls skeptically. Eönwë smiled.

"It's warded," he explained. "Someone inside can hear what goes on outside, but no one outside can hear in. Sauron nodded. This was going to be hard enough without anyone else involved. He took a deep breath, then let it out. He was uncomfortable with this whole thing. No, scratch that, he was terrified. Just say it.

"Eönwë, I need you to bind me," he said firmly and suddenly. Sauron didn't think he could have shocked Eönwë more if he'd tried.

"What? Why?" the startled Maia demanded. Sauron sighed, and turned, beginning to pace.

"Because I won't stay," he told the floor. "I'm…well, truthfully, I'm terrified, but I know that this is what I should do, and I owe it to them to do it, but I know that I won't–"

He was stopped, both in words and in movement, by a gentle hand on his arm. Eönwë had regained his composure, and was staring at Sauron with a mix of concern and compassion. Sauron just stared miserably at the other Maia.

"You're sure?" Eönwë asked softly. Sauron just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Eönwë moved behind him, then stopped.

"Mairon…" he said. Sauron swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

"Please," he whispered. Eönwë sighed, and gently pulled Sauron's wrists around to his spine. As he did so, Sauron bowed his head, and his hair shifted to the side. The knee length robe he was wearing puckered in the back, leaving Eönwë, who was taller, with a clear view of the other Maia's back.

Eönwë froze. Then, with a harsh curse, he let go of Sauron's wrists, reaching around him for ties to the robe. Sauron's breath caught, and he tried to move away. Eönwë was faster, though, and quickly undid the ties and pulled the robe off. Sauron was left in leggings and boots. He shivered slightly in the cool air.

Eönwë stared in horror at the scars marring the other Maia's back, a curious combination of whip and burn scars. Then with another curse, he turned Sauron around.

There were more scars on his chest, but not as thickly concentrated as those on his back. Worse was the thick burn scar across his upper chest. It looked like a Balrog had wrapped an arm around him. Also visible were three sets of handprints along his arms.

Sauron dropped his head, biting his lower lip. Eönwë reached out and tipped Sauron's head up, until the shorter Maia was forced to meet his eyes. A mixture of helplessness and desperation swirled in those golden depths.

"Oh, Mairon," Eönwë whispered. He reached out and pulled Sauron into his embrace, anger and sadness warring in his heart when the other Maia stiffened. But then he relaxed, and rested his head on Eönwë's shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Eönwë," he whispered softly. Eönwë said nothing, but tightened his hold. This war had been so hard, fighting those of his brethren who had chosen to follow Melkor. They were twisted in both form and mind: beyond the chance of redemption. The victory had felt pyrrhic; they had not won. Too much had been lost. Morgoth had been humbled, and he would never again wage war upon Arda until the end of time, but nothing else save death and destruction had been accomplished.

Now Eönwë felt the war might just be worth it. Here was a chance to save, not destroy. He gently traced the handprints burned into Sauron's upper arm. He sighed.

"I wish you had never left," he whispered.

"I wish I had never left the Timeless Halls," Sauron whispered back, even softer.

"What happened, Mairon?" Eönwë asked.

"I lost Tol Sirion," Sauron said, painfully. "Morgoth was…beyond furious." Eönwë closed his eyes, anger and pain now combining dangerously.

"So he did this to you?" he asked. Sauron stiffened and hesitated.

"He...he ripped me apart and then threw me to Gothmog," he finally said, all in a rush. Anger won out in Eönwë's heart, as he suddenly fully understood and sympathized with the Noldor. Though Morgoth had been thrown beyond the Gate of Night, to never again return until the end of the world, it suddenly didn't seem like it was enough. Eönwë gently pulled Sauron over to the cot and sat him down, then settled next to his old friend.

"And how do Beren and Lúthien tie into all this?" he asked gently. Just briefly, Sauron smiled.

"They found me, only days later," he said. "They took care of me, though Beren truly didn't want to in the beginning…But they forgave me, something I still cannot understand. Lúthien made me promise that if there was even the chance of redemption I should take it. So I'm here." Eönwë gently brushed his hand though Sauron's dark hair.

"You may just find it," Eönwë assured him.

"I wish I could believe that," Sauron said. He looked up and met Eönwë's eyes. "I will run, Eönwë. You need to stop me. I…I'm tired of running."

"I will protect you, Mairon," Eönwë said fiercely. "Even from yourself." He gently pushed Sauron down.

"Now lay down," he ordered. Sauron looked confused as he complied and Eönwë proceeded to pull his boots off.

"Go to sleep," Eönwë said. "You need it, and we can talk more later." Sauron nodded, and closed his eyes.

Eönwë waited until he was asleep, then got up and moved to his desk. He still had to figure out how to get everyone back to Valinor, and hopefully the work would drive the memory of his friend's broken expression out of his mind.

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**As always, please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Arafinwë generally stopped by Eönwë's tent every morning, to figure out what needed to be done that day and to coordinate plans. The Maiar outside knew him, and rarely bothered to announce him, just waved him in. Thus it came as a shock when he walked in and found Eönwë sitting at his desk, talking to a black haired Maia who was languidly sitting on the cot, reclining against one of the tent's support poles.

It was an even bigger shock when Arafinwë realized just who the Maia was. He'd heard the rumors that Sauron had surrendered, of course, but he hadn't fully believed them until he saw the evidence with his own eyes.

"I can come back later, if you're busy at the moment," he told Eönwë.

"I'm not, I'm just still trying to figure out how to get everyone back, including all the exiles who wish to return," Eönwë said, sounding slightly harried.

"Do you want me to help?" the surprising offer came from Sauron, as the Maia sat up. "I am better than you at that sort of thing." Eönwë looked at him gratefully.

"If you don't mind," he said. Sauron got to his feet gracefully, and walked over to the desk. He was short, Arafinwë noted with shock. Ever since he'd received the news of his son's death, he'd imagined the one who was responsible for it. It hadn't been this. The black hair had been the only thing he'd gotten right. He'd imagined a brooding presence, radiating darkness. This quiet, almost unassuming Maia would not have been out of place in Valinor.

Eönwë joined Arafinwë at the table, and they began to discus supplies and provisions, along with all the day-to-day problems that arose in a camp this size. They broke off startled, as Sauron huffed.

"Do you have an organization system?" he asked Eönwë.

"I do," Eönwë said defensively. Sauron just raised an eyebrow.

"So, it's not much of one anymore," Eönwë replied. "But I've been fighting a war!"

"So have I," Sauron pointed out dryly. "And my desk was neater."

Arafinwë found himself hard pressed not to snort with laughter as Eönwë muttered something in Valarin he was sure was uncomplimentary. The two were bickering like old friends. Arafinwë suddenly sobered as he realized they probably were.

"Yes, Eönwë, I'm an organizational freak," Sauron deadpanned. "Do you have a point?"

Eönwë ignored him. Sauron grinned, and turned back around to the desk. He accidentally hit one of the precarious piles stacked on it, yelped, and lunged for the falling papers. Muttering under his breath, he grabbed all the papers, putting them in one large stack that he quickly moved to the table, sitting on the far end away from Arafinwë and Eönwë. He quickly began to make three stacks out of the papers.

"Why the different stacks?" Eönwë asked. Sauron looked up.

"These are the reports necessary to get everyone back to the Valinor," he said pointing to the first stack. "These are the things you'll need to keep but don't need at the moment," he continued, pointing to the second stack. "And these are the things you don't need and, frankly, I don't know why you still have." The third stack was easily the largest.

"Oh," Eönwë said, lamely. "That makes…sense." Sauron looked up and grinned.

"It's called organizing," he said smugly. "I know it's a hard concept for you, but…" He broken off laughing as Eönwë started to look around for something to throw. It was a surprisingly full and engaging laugh, Arafinwë thought.

Sauron quickly continued to sort through the papers, the third pile growing exponentially bigger. Eönwë would occasionally check its growth with a chagrined expression. Arafinwë was hard pressed not to laugh at the Maia's expense. Eönwë was very good at leading armies, and was unrivaled in his skill with arms, but organization was not his strong point.

Finally finishing, Sauron picked up the third stack, and walked over to the tent flaps, asking one of the Maiar standing there to go burn it.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that," Arafinwë and Eönwë heard him snap. "It's not like I'm going to bite you." Both Arafinwë and Eönwë broke out laughing. Sauron walked back in, looking disgruntled.

"They know me; I have no idea why they're looking at me like that," he complained to Eönwë. Eönwë sobered.

"They knew you, Mairon," he said softly. "They don't know what to think anymore." Sauron's expression suddenly became unreadable, as he picked up the stack he'd designated as those reports necessary to figure out the transport needed. He quietly sat down at the desk and started working.

Arafinwë and Eönwë finished up, and as Arafinwë left, he was unable to resist glancing back at the black haired Maia at the desk. There was something defeated in his posture and the slump of his shoulders. Arafinwë glanced around the camp, and decided that he was going to find an eyewitness to what had happened yesterday, when Sauron had surrendered.

The ellon he found–after tracking down several lines of rumor–was generally reported as someone who was discerning and not prone to exaggeration.

"I could not hear a good deal of it, my lord," the ellon said, "as Eönwë and Sauron spoke in low tones for most of it. Sauron spoke first; he said that he had come to surrender and plead for forgiveness, that he regretted his choice to follow Morgoth, and that he didn't wish to serve the Darkness any longer. Then I couldn't hear anything until Eönwë said that he did not have the authority to pardon Sauron, and that he would have to return to Valinor and face the judgment of the Valar." Here the ellon paused.

"Sauron said he would," he said carefully, "But in my opinion, he did not look very happy about it."

"He looked resentful?" Arafinwë asked. The ellon looked uncomfortable.

"Closer to terrified, my lord," he said quietly. Arafinwë stood quiet for a moment, then dismissed the ellon with his thanks.

So, Sauron would be facing a trial in Valinor, and he was apparently terrified at that prospect, Arafinwë thought. That made sense, his crimes were many. But what Arafinwë didn't understand was why Sauron was still here. If he was truly terrified of what would happen when he faced the Valar in trial, why hadn't he fled? There would be no one capable of stopping him.

Perhaps he really is sincere in his repentance, Arafinwë thought. That would be the only reason he could see for Sauron's staying. Still, if his fear overcame his repentance, it could prove disastrous. Arafinwë determined he would mention his concerns to Eönwë. Perhaps he would have some ideas.

It didn't prove easy to get Eönwë alone. Sauron seemed to be staying very close to his fellow Maia, which soothed Arafinwë's fears somewhat. Eönwë was the only one who might be able to prevent him from running should he choose to do so.

Finally though, Arafinwë and Eönwë went to speak to those of the Teleri who had provided passage to Middle-earth. Sauron had done wonders in organizing everything that needed to happen, and it looked like they could leave much sooner than they had expected. Arafinwë was both excited and saddened at that thought, for though he was anxious to be home, he would be leaving behind what remained of his family. Artanis was not allowed to return to Valinor, and Ereinion was planning to remain here as king of those of the Noldor who did not wish to return. The peredhil twins were remaining as well, Elros having chosen mortality, and Elrond staying with Ereinion.

Arafinwë pushed those thoughts away, as he focused on the task at hand. Finally satisfied that everything would go smoothly for their return, they turned back toward the main encampment.

"Eönwë," Arafinwë said hesitantly. "I spoke to some of the elves who witnessed Sauron's surrender, and most seem to agree that he seemed quite frightened by the idea of returning to Valinor. I know that he's been very well behaved, but I can't help but worry-"

"That he'll run?" Eönwë finished quietly. Arafinwë nodded.

"It has always been a very real possibility," Eönwë said tiredly. "He actually told me that flat out. You've noticed that he's been staying very close to me?" At Arafinwë's affirmation, he continued. "That's why. Mairon knows that he's more likely to run than stay, but doesn't want to flee."

"Forgive me for saying so, but that seems remarkably out of character for him," Arafinwë said quietly. Eönwë shrugged.

"It probably is, and that's why I've been rushing as much as I have in trying to get us back to Valinor," he admitted. "But Mairon feels like he owes this to a few who showed him compassion in his past, and is doing his best to master his fear." Eönwë briefly smiled at Arafinwë. "Don't worry. I won't let him run."

Arafinwë smiled back, his fears quieted, though not fully assuaged. They returned to Eönwë's tent to find that Sauron had finished the massive lists of everyone who was leaving, what ship they were taking, and when they were going to leave. He had grabbed another Maia to copy the lists so that they could be posted around to let everyone know what was going on.

"I'll copy it again, so that the ship captains can make sure if they have everyone on board that they should," Sauron said, stretching.

"Good job," Eönwë said, clasping him briefly on the shoulder. "Have you decided when we and Arafinwë are heading out?" Sauron reached over and snagged two sheets of paper.

"I have who's going, and on what ships," he began. "But either you or Arafinwë need to be last; the other should probably be first." Eönwë and Arafinwë exchanged glances. Arafinwë, mindful of the conversation they'd just had, spoke up.

"I'd prefer going last," he said. "It would give me more time with my family." Eönwë nodded at that.

"Then we'll go first," he told Sauron. Arafinwë watched as Sauron's face palled, and he swallowed heavily, before nodding and sitting to write down the final details. He had clearly been hoping to go last. It seemed as though he would be facing trial sooner rather than later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Mmm, yes, I'm updating a day early. I felt like it...and I really doubt you're complaining. :)**

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Chapter Six

Sauron decided he didn't like ships–or the ocean, really, but ships were worse. He silently vowed that he would never voluntarily board one again. He sighed, and shifted slightly inside the protecting and restraining circle of Eönwë's arms. He was not there because he was seasick, no, he was there because he had tried to run twice now.

The first time had been when they had been getting on the ship, everything loaded but its living cargo. He'd paused right at the gangplank, and in a sudden convulsive movement, turned to flee. Eönwë had been right there though, and had grabbed his arm, and hauled him onto the ship and down to their quarters, quite possibly without anyone noticing.

The second attempt had been just a few days ago. That time he'd made it almost to the deck, determined to shift form once he gained it and fly back to Middle-earth. Eönwë had been forced to tackle him, and both of them had some rather interesting bruises now. Eönwë hadn't let him out of his sight since, unless he was tightly tied up.

Eönwë had always looked rather guilty when he tied Sauron up, though, and so preferred to stay with him constantly. It also had the benefit of calming him slightly. The closer they got to Valinor, the tighter strung Sauron's nerves became. He closed his eyes as he heard them docking, his breath coming in short, shallow pants, almost hyperventilating.

Eönwë looked at him sympathetically, but didn't speak, knowing anything he said to try and comfort him would be empty reassurance. He thought both of them to just outside the Máhanaxar. Sauron closed his eyes again as the power radiating from the Valar washed over him. During the long Ages, he had forgotten their might, and remembering it now did nothing to help his nerves.

"Trust me, Mairon," Eönwë suddenly whispered. Sauron looked at him in confusion, and Eönwë quickly began unfastening the robes Sauron was wearing.

"Eönwë…" he said.

"Trust me," Eönwë said again. Sauron said nothing more as Eönwë led him into the center of the ring. He knelt, staring at his knees. He felt hyperaware, sensing the calluses on Eönwë's fingers as his friend brushed his hair over his shoulder to bare his back. Eönwë was making a statement, Sauron realized. He stayed silent, and as still as he could, while Eönwë succinctly made his report.

Sauron surreptitiously gripped his leggings to try and stop his fingers from shaking. He could feel the individual fibers of the cloth, focusing on them to try to keep himself calm. Eönwë finished his report, and was dismissed. He bowed and left, glancing back at Sauron as he did so.

Silence reigned, as the Valar stared at the ruined form of the Maia before them.

"Sauron Gorthaur," Manwë began. Sauron flinched. He hated that name. Maybe he deserved it from the people of Middle-earth, but that the Valar were using it as well did not bode well for his future.

"Long ago you turned in your allegiance from us; faithfully serving Melkor until his recent defeat. Now you have surrendered, and are before us pleading for mercy."

Manwë's use of the word pleading brought up horrible connotations for Sauron, and he fought back a shudder. Hopefully this wouldn't end as badly as the last time he had been forced to beg–though he wasn't holding out much hope for that.

"We have decided to be lenient to those who have made mistakes in their pasts and are truly repentant. But your chosen master knelt in this very spot and begged for mercy, deceiving us all." Manwë spoke with a much colder tone now. "We will not be deceived again."

Oh, no, Sauron thought frantically. Oh, please, no.

Manwë mentally reached out and touched the Maia's mind. His mental shields where abnormal: deeply cracked and fragile, like they had been brutally shattered, and only haphazardly put back together. They crumbled faster than the Valar had been expecting, and Mairon started screaming as memories arose of being trapped and helpless, being torn apart thought by thought in inescapable darkness.

Partially forewarned that Mairon had been tortured in the past by the physical state the Maia had been in, the Valar pulled back quickly, and more than one stared in horror at the damaged Maia curled in the center of the ring, weeping softly. Nienna gracefully rose from her throne and moved towards the Maia, kneeling down and taking Mairon in her embrace. She glanced back towards Námo, who met her gaze fully. Something passed between the siblings, and Námo nodded and rose, coming to kneel in front of her. He reached out and gently took Mairon from her. The Maia shivered, but otherwise did not react.

"Mairon," Námo said gently. "I know you don't want to tell us, but we need to hear your story." The broken Maia in his arms nodded, but didn't speak for a long moment. Finally, he uncurled slightly, just enough to be heard.

"I was good at what I did," he began. "I had to be. Everyone knew the price of failure; no one wanted to become Morgoth's next little 'project'." He broke off, shuddering. "Most failed."

"You did, eventually," Námo prompted. Mairon nodded weakly.

"I…I lost Tol Sirion," he said. "Morgoth blamed me for Beren and Lúthien fulfilling their quest. Said if I'd just killed Beren when I had the chance, they never would have won the Silmaril. It doesn't make sense, but logic never mattered to Morgoth."

"So he did this to you?" Námo asked.

"He…he…" Mairon began, brokenly.

"He tore you apart," Námo said gently. Mairon nodded once.

"Then he threw me to Gothmog," he continued after a moment. "Gothmog hated me, blamed me for his being trapped in that form." He paused, considering something. "I probably did have a hand in it," he admitted, "Though it was not my fault he failed."

"What did Gothmog want from you?" Námo asked.

"Just to hear me scream," Mairon whispered. The story continued in a rush, spilling out of the Maia. "He whipped me…then broke my arm," he briefly touched his upper left arm. "I screamed," the Maia admitted in a whisper. "He kept whipping…until I was nearly unconscious. Then he broke my leg," here his hand travelled to his right thigh. "It hurt," he said simply. "Then he grabbed my right arm, threatened to break it too, leave me helpless. He told me to beg." Mairon buried his head in Námo's chest, his next words almost too quiet to be heard. "I did," he said, sounding sick. "So he snapped my left arm instead." He was silent for a time, and Námo could feel his heart racing, fluttering like a trapped bird.

"I lost consciousness at that point," Mairon finally said. "When I re-awoke...Morgoth was there."

"And what did he do?" Námo asked when it seemed the Maia was disinclined to say anything more.

"Nothing," Mairon answered, too quickly.

"Mairon," Námo said, firmly.

"He…just spoke to me," Mairon said finally.

"What did he say?" Námo pressed. Mairon shook his head.

"It's not important," he insisted.

"Yes, it is," Námo said, implacably. "What did he say?" The Maia's body stiffened, and his head dropped even lower.

"He told me it was my fault, that if I had been better he wouldn't have needed to punish me," he finally whispered, tears in his voice.

"And you believed him," Námo said calmly. Mairon didn't say anything; his acceptance of Námo's statement was clear.

"Then what happened?" Námo finally asked. Mairon took a steadying breath before answering.

"He told me to disincarnate and get out," he said. "I fled to the northern forests. It was just a few days later that Beren and Lúthien found me." He relaxed for the first time, lost in memories of happier days. "They cared for me, even though they had every right to just walk away. We became friends, as odd as that was…" his voice trailed off.

"Lúthien had me promise that if I ever had a chance to leave Morgoth's service, I would take it," he continued. "So, when the war was over, I surrendered…It was the only thing I could do to even partially repay them."

Námo didn't say anything further, just held the Maia as his breathing and heart rate slowed and steadied. Mairon was clearly exhausted from the rather trying ordeal he had gone through, and was slowly beginning to fall asleep. Námo briefly debated simply letting Mairon fall asleep before moving him, but decided against it, and carefully passed the now limp Maia back to Nienna, where he lay blinking slowly and heavily. Námo rose, and returned to his throne, exactly opposite from Manwë.

"Well," Námo silently said to the rest of the Valar, communicating via thought, "I suppose we are all in agreement that throwing him to the Void is out of the question."

"Yes," Manwë agreed. "That would be extremely cruel of us, especially knowing what he would suffer should we do so."

"If we are not going to throw him to the Void, what are we going to do with him?" Nessa asked silently. "Do we try to redeem him? After all he has done, all the crimes he has committed, is he even capable of redemption anymore?"

"You are forgetting something rather important," Námo pointed out. "He is here because of a past kindness on the part of Beren and Lúthien. He did something that he did not want to do, that he perceived–rightly–would only cause him more pain, because it was the only way he had to repay them. He is obviously still capable of love and loyalty."

"If we show him mercy, what of justice?" Oromë asked. "What about the crimes he committed, against us, against the Children?"

"And what of the crimes committed against him?" Námo replied. "No, in this case, justice cannot be satisfied, no matter what we do."

"So we show mercy," Manwë said, his mental voice firm.

"He's going to need extremely gentle handling," Nienna spoke up from where she knelt. "He's incredibly fragile at the moment. After all, he believes that what happened to him was his fault. Convincing him otherwise is going to be a long and difficult task."

"Then it would probably be best handled by the three of you," Manwë said, indicating Nienna, Námo, and Irmo. The siblings glanced between one another, before Námo responded.

"We will do it," he said. Manwë nodded, and the Valar began to disperse, slipping away to the many other tasks that needed to be accomplished due to the end of the war. Quickly, only Námo, Irmo, and Nienna were left.

Námo and Irmo stood and walked over to where Nienna was holding Mairon. They knelt down, and Námo reached out to brush back Mairon's black hair. Glazed golden eyes flickered open, and slight frown of confusion crossed his face when he realized that most of the Valar had gone. But exhaustion quickly won out over curiosity, and his eyes closed again.

"It is probably best if he comes with me," Nienna said. "Both of you have some in your demesnes who would react badly if we brought Mairon there." Námo and Irmo nodded, recognizing the truth in her words. Námo glance at Irmo.

"If you need to, go ahead and go back to Lórien," he said. "I know you're extremely busy at the moment."

"So are you," Irmo pointed out. Námo, however, shook his head.

"Most of those who came to me in the war have settled down now. Most of them are too exhausted and confused to cause any trouble yet. My Maiar have everything well under control," Námo assured his brother. Irmo nodded.

"My charges are living, and so not nearly as compliant," he pointed out dryly. "If you're sure…"

"Go on, little brother," Námo said with a smile. Irmo nodded and left. Námo turned to Nienna.

"Let me take him, sister," he said, scooping up the nearly asleep Maia in her arms. Nienna, freed from Mairon's weight, stood up, and they quickly thought themselves to the West, to Nienna's demesne. Nienna quickly led the way to an unoccupied chamber that Mairon could use. There was a wide window that faced the ocean. Námo gently settled Mairon on the bed, and slipped off the soft shoes he had been wearing. The Maia opened tired eyes that settled on Námo's face.

"I'm going to remove your leggings," Námo told him. "I want to see the damage to your legs."

Mairon just nodded, closing his eyes again, and Námo quickly slipped the leggings off. The Maia's legs weren't quite as badly scarred as his torso, all except the right thigh, which had clearly been snapped as Mairon had said. Having determined that everything had been correctly cared for, and that none of Mairon's previous injuries hampered him in any way, Námo carefully rolled the Maia under the thick covers.

"Sleep well," he murmured softly, before following Nienna out of the room to discuss how they could help the broken Maia that was unexpectedly in their care.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry, this is what happens when you don't load the right chapter. Anyway, real last chapter now. **

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Chapter Seven

Mairon slept for about four hours, then found himself wide awake. His extreme exhaustion was the only reason he had been able to sleep earlier, despite all that had happened, and now he found himself thinking too much to try and fall asleep again. Sighing, and deciding he didn't want to stay in this room, he slipped out of his bed, and grabbed his pants. After putting them on, he grabbed the top blanket off his bed to make up for his lack of a shirt. Wrapping it around himself, he silently slipped out of his room, and found a set of stairs leading to the roof.

The staircase led to a flat area of the roof that was obviously designed for stargazing. There were a few chairs, and a half-wall that wrapped around the space. Mairon leaned his forearms on the wall, looking west. He stared at the horizon line, watching the way the waves and the stars met and mirrored each other, thinking about all that had happened that day.

He was still confused as to his place now. Forgiven and granted a second chance he might be, but he had no idea what to do with it, or what the Valar were expecting from him. He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. For too long his only goals had been to avoid becoming one of Morgoth's projects by being as indispensable as possible. He knew instinctively that it would be too awkward to serve Aulë as he used to, and in all truthfulness, he didn't want to. Still, he was a Maia, and service was in his nature. He wanted to serve, but he didn't know who, or how.

He didn't realize he'd let the blanket slip off his shoulders and down his back, until almost inaudible footsteps sounded behind him, and gentle hands pulled the blanket back up onto his shoulders. Mairon suddenly noticed how cold he had gotten. He glanced up, briefly meeting Námo's serene grey eyes before returning his gaze to the horizon.

"I couldn't sleep," he said by way of explanation.

"There are worse habits than stargazing on sleepless nights," Námo said mildly.

"I needed to think," Mairon admitted. "I'm still…confused."

"About what?" Námo asked. Mairon held his breath, then blew it out explosively.

"Everything," he said wryly. "What I want, what I'm going to do, what you all are expecting of me…" He trailed off, pulling the blanket closer around himself. Námo studied him for a moment, then gently pulled him in the direction of one of the chairs. Námo sat and pulled Mairon into his arms, arranging the blanket so it covered the Maia's bare feet. Mairon dropped his head, his fragile hold on his emotions threatened by that simple gesture.

"To answer your last question," Námo said. "We are going to help you heal. What you do after that is up to you."

"What do you mean?" Mairon asked.

"Your life since you decided to follow Melkor has been characterized by a lack of control over your destiny," Námo explained. "We are going to give that back. What you make of yourself now is up to you; we are not going to force you into anything."

"But I don't even know what I want," Mairon said forlornly. Námo chuckled.

"We are not expecting a decision immediately," he assured the Maia. "You have time to decide." Strangely comforted by that, Mairon relaxed, leaning back against Námo and tilting his head to watch the stars.

"Morgoth always hated the stars," Mairon said suddenly. "I didn't think about them much, but when I did, they always seemed cold and distant–uncaring of anything that happened below them."

"Most thought we were the same," Námo replied. "But everything has worked out the way it was supposed to."

"You knew everything would work out this way?" Mairon asked.

"No," Námo replied. "But I do know that Ilúvatar will allow no one to flout His will. Everything has a part in His greater design." Thoughtful, Mairon returned his gaze to the stars, watching them until he drifted off to sleep.

The sun had long since risen when he awoke in his bed. He decided that falling asleep in someone's arms and waking up in his bed was getting rather old, and that he wouldn't do so anymore. Almost as soon as he thought that, he decided he probably shouldn't resolve not to do things that were almost inevitable.

He got out of bed, noticing the pile of clothing nearby. They was simple, just a tunic and breeches, but they fit perfectly. He didn't know if they had been made by Vairë or one of her Maiar, but he was extremely grateful for them.

He glanced incuriously out the window of his new room, and suddenly froze, his eyes locked on a figure sitting on the sand. It was Olórin. Mairon bit his lip as he remembered his brother's expression the last time he'd seen him, full of betrayal and heartbreak.

Hesitantly, he slipped out of the house and down to the beach, sitting inelegantly a few feet away from his brother, legs loosely crossed, hands limp and useless in his lap, shoulders slumped.

"Olórin?" Mairon said tentatively. His brother didn't respond. Mairon glanced down at his hands. "If you hate me, I'll understand, but I wish you would just tell me," he said softly. For a moment, it didn't seem like Olórin would react, but then Mairon suddenly found himself pulled into a fierce embrace.

"I've missed you, little brother." Olórin said. "So much." Mairon untangled his arms to hug his brother back.

"I'm so sorry," he said, burying his head in Olórin's shoulder. "I wasn't thinking about anyone else, just me. I didn't even realize that I would be hurting so many others."

"You're back now," Olórin assured him. "That's all that matters to me."

"How can you say that?" Mairon cried. "That's what everyone is saying. But I…I…"

"Hush," Olórin said. "We say that because we love you. I say that because I have been praying every day since you left that somehow, someway, you would be able to find your way home." Mairon dropped his head, feeling extremely guilty.

"I'm not worth it," he whispered. "You shouldn't have had to suffer because of me."

"Mairon," Olórin said, fond exasperation in his voice. "You're my little brother. Nothing can change that. Of course I love you, and will always love you."

"But I've done so much evil; so many things that are unforgivable," Mairon said. Olórin was silent for a moment, pursing his lips.

"The Noldorin slaves," he said suddenly. "Were they ever forced to do things they didn't want to, things they would have considered wrong?"

"Yes," Mairon whispered, eyes growing dark as he remembered.

"And do you blame them for what they did?" Olórin continued. Mairon glanced up, shocked.

"No, they didn't have a choice," he said. "They were forced to." Olórin nodded.

"They were," he agreed. "But what you fail to realize, my beloved, brilliant, and yet utterly foolish little brother, is that you were just as much a slave as they were." He reached out and began to pull Mairon's tunic over his head. Mairon quickly caught his wrists.

"Olórin…" he said.

"I need to know," Olórin replied simply. Once his tunic was removed, Mairon refused to meet Olórin's eyes, until Olórin grabbed his chin and forced him to.

"This was not your fault," he said firmly. Mairon's eyes filled with tears.

"How is it not," he replied bitterly. "Even if I didn't deserve it for losing Tol Sirion, don't I deserve it for following Morgoth to begin with?"

"No, you do not," Olórin said unyieldingly. "Tell me, why did you decide to follow him? I know you never would have believed in what he was saying."

"He wanted me," Mairon said hollowly. "You remember what it was like, no one was safe. And what Melkor wanted he got…or destroyed."

"You followed him out of fear," Olórin stated.

"And pride," Mairon whispered. "I felt like under him my talents would be fully realized and used, that I deserved to be the chief Maia of a Vala…"

"And who told you that?" Olórin countered. "I know you were fully content with your place until Melkor began to pay attention to you. You took the only road you saw as possible. Which brings me back to my earlier point: this was not your fault. You were trapped and enslaved, just as surely as the Noldor who toiled sadly in Angband."

"Is that all I'm doomed to be, then?" Mairon asked hopelessly. "A broken and useless slave?" Olórin pulled him into another embrace.

"No, little brother, it is not," he whispered into Mairon's ear. "You have too many who care about you too much to let that happen."

"So what do I do?" Mairon asked.

"What do you want to do?" Olórin countered. Mairon was silent for a long time, then pulled back to look his brother in the face.

"I want to help," he said firmly, conviction beginning to grow in his eyes.

* * *

Weeks later found Mairon back on the roof, this time sitting on the wall. Quiet footsteps alerted him to the fact he had a visitor, and he glance up to see Námo walking towards him. Conversations with both Námo and Nienna had become an almost regular occurrence, and they usually left the Maia thinking for hours.

"I think I've decided what I want to do," he said, when Námo drew close to him.

"Oh?" Námo said.

"I know a lot about what life in Middle-earth is like," Mairon said, "and I know the Secondborn probably better than anyone in Valinor." He paused, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"I want to help those who have been hurt," he finally said. "Working in Lórien would be counterproductive; elves have long memories. But in a few generations, the Mortals won't remember me at all…"

"So you wish to serve in Mandos," Námo said. Mairon nodded, nervousness in his gaze. Námo smiled.

"I think you would do quite well there," he assured the Maia. Mairon smiled back, light beginning to return to his gaze.

"So," he said lightly. "When do I start?"

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**And that's the end! I hope you've enjoyed, and as always please review! **


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